Back in Beijing. Overcast, traffic on a Sunday. Bigger than all the other big cities of the
nation. Our train back from Zhengzhou
was a non-stop, straight shot and it went quickly. I spent the ride reading a recent history of
Egypt written by a pundit who had dated my sister in college. I almost finished it. But still need to get to Tahrir Square. I must reach out to him when I’m done, to share
some ideas.
This morning it
was raining in Zhengzhou. We stayed at
this remarkable and arguably well-overbuilt Millennium Tower that shoots up
like a dramatic pagoda and is circled by a mote and lesser office towers. I had it in mind to head over to the Henan
Provincial Museum. I can remember being
strongly impressed by this museum when I saw it for my first and only time back
in 1999. It struck me as far more modern
and richer in its collection than anything I’d seen in Beijing. I knew no one else with their sore legs and
feet would be interested in going, so I got a Di Di and headed over myself.
When I arrived, I
learned that the museum was under renovation.
But there was a side building which fortunately had a handsome portion
of the collection available for viewing.
I have four-weeks’ worth of Chinese history teaching coming up next
month and I thought I should use the chance to refresh myself on the remarkable
progression. Highlights: The early pottery that takes early
settlements along the Yellow River in Henan back to 4800 BC. The wax-worked bronze of the Han Dynasty was
beguiling and Party-approved way of describing the Tang as “playful” caught my
eyes. I made it out the exit after the
Tang and asked where the story continued.
Errantly, I went across the courtyard to the building on the opposite
side, and learned from a guard that despite having thought I’d completed everything
I’d apparently missed the Song, Yuan, Ming, Qing work back in the building I’d
just come from.
Reentering a young
gal shook her head definitively and said there was no such work inside. But I believe I have a sixth sense for
useless bureaucrats and eventually found a young man who showed me the hall I’d
missed. Here we had some lovely representations
of Yuan workmen complete with memorable exaggerated facial expressions and Ming
objects required one crouch down low to secure a good view of. Perhaps it is the case that the best kilns and
indeed the best of everything had long since moved down south by the late Ming
and Qing. There were only a few Qing objects of interest, at cloisonné pot that
was lovely but its solitary presence spoke more than the finery of its
design.
All of the new
rail stations seem to look the same and have been filled out with the same
concessions. I just knew there’d be a Starbucks,
just like there is in the one in Hangzhou and the station in Hongqiao. They must have followed a formula not only
for the architecture design but also which shops they allowed in. There was nothing I could see to distinguish this
particular station. The Starbucks was
there , but there were no seats so we ambled over with our drinks and Caesar-chicken
wraps to the McDonalds, where I bought a twelve yuan bag of fries which I plopped prominently on the table and we
killed time trading photos of the hike we’d taken and comparing aches and pains
in our legs.
Sunday, 4/21/19
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